hero
by S.N. Rainsworth
Summary: he's (a hero, a try-hard work-hard fight-through-the-pain made-it-to-the-top hero) composed of foolish bravery and starless darkness. / canon couples, percy-centric.


**hero**_prologue_

* * *

It's Percy's seventh year as a camper, and the beads on his necklace is by far the longest out of all the campers together. They wave to him, sometimes - when he's walking past the lava wall or the amphitheater. They call out to him with bright eyes, wide in awe, stirring up beside him like a pack of wolves. Questions, questions, questions. Dreamy statements of adoration. They treat him like a god.

Percy supposes that it would've been pretty cool. It was what he wanted, wasn't it? A long time ago, (a year? two?) the recognition, the acknowledgement, that was what he would've wanted. His father's proudly beaming smile, his mother's comforting hand on his shoulder. Wasn't that what he wanted?

Pushing them away, Percy isn't sure anymore. They, the campers, always keep a safe distance - a few paces, like they're itching to get closer but are afraid to. Once, Percy has thought that it's almost like he's a prized animal to their viewing pleasure. After that one comparison, he tries not to think about it again. It makes his skin bump out into goosebumps; the eyes, the ears, the grabbing hands. All reaching out to claim their piece of him, like he's a possession.

Seven years, knowing what he is. Not exactly who, not yet, but just what (_half-human half-god_). He knows that he's composed of skin and bones and flesh, hair and cells and blood, seventy five percent water and hundred percent suffering.

Closing the door to the Poseidon cabin, Percy half-heartedly admires the glittering shells of the cabin, slides to the floor and almost imagines himself sinking in the water - imagines himself drowning, water filling his lungs, betraying him. Imagines things that aren't supposed to happen but already have. Percy wonders about the moment before you jump, the freefall, the ocean sun above your fingertips. It all seems like a stupid, faraway dream, and vaguely he can make out his fingers amongst the dim of his cabin. Above him, tiny metal hippocampi glitter, mocking him with their reflected copper suns.

Suddenly very tired (_well, not suddenly, he's always very tired_) Percy closes his eyes and slumps against the door, head resting against the doorknob. It smells like sea salt and beach air, like it always does, but Percy can't seem to find comfort in the vanity. Something feels off - something feels menacing.

Very slowly, he allows himself to close his eyes, and immediately opens them again.

_don't sleep._

Sleep brings another abnormality, mirroring the ones in reality. Sleep takes shape and form into monsters, demons, fires of hell. Dreams choke him until he can't breathe air or water. Sleeping isn't good, not for him. Quickly, he stumbles up and turns on the light, fumbles with the coffee maker located in the corner of his room, out-of-place with the underwater theme. Percy rubs his eyes and then his necklace absentmindedly, hands weathering over the one sea-green bead with a black trident stamped front and center.

Quickly drinking his cup after it's finished and scalding his tongue, Percy sits down on his bed and picks up one of the books Annabeth has left behind, tracing the Greek letters with his eyes. _Arithmacy Through The Ages_, it reads, lettered in gold. Throwing it to the side, he looks at the opposite bed on the other side, purely courtesy and now messily made.

Annabeth sleeps there, his brain informs him helpfully. Annabeth sleeps there every night, eyes staring at you in terror just above her covers, worn and as scared as a child. Annabeth sleeps there and sometimes she cries, silent tears rolling down her cheeks, mouth parted just slightly like she's reliving a nightmare. Puffs of breath escape her mouth all the time, Percy thinks, because she's cold. When he touches her, holds her hand, cups her cheek, she's cold.

The door opens and a bit of darkness from twilight pours in. Annabeth glances up at him, worry lines beneath her eyes, hair uncombed. She's a mess.

Quickly, her eyes glance toward him and then all around the cabin. "How long have you been sitting there?"

"A few hours," he replies quietly, "at best."

Annabeth nods, and Percy lays down in bed. His eyes close and he quickly falls into black, dreamless sleep.

* * *

.:.


End file.
